The Bet
by justok
Summary: It is a quiet day, early in the five-year mission. Spock believes it logical to assume he can catch up on his research. He is mistaken.


His arrival on the bridge at 0346 surprised Lieutenant U'Ktu, who stumbled out of the command chair to come to attention. He nodded an acknowledgment and continued to the science station.

Returning to his seat, U'Ktu said, "Planning to make hay while the sun shines, sir?"

At one time it might have required some effort not to experience an emotional response to such a question. However, in the years since the defeat of Nero, he had learned much about coexistence on a ship the size of the Enterprise. Many cultures had greeting rituals far in excess of what had been customary on Vulcan and considered it rude to decline participation. Therefore, although his preference was to ignore banality, he replied, "The chemical analysis I ordered of the samples collected on MD7206 will be complete at 0400."

"Okay then," U'ktu said, returning his focus to the screen.

Their current mission, to ferry replacement machinery parts to a UFP member affected by seismic activity, was not urgent. Assuming the captain followed Starfleet recommendations on avoiding warp speed in high traffic areas, (and he acknowledged that was not certain) they would reach their destination in 16 watches. Until that time he anticipated few demands from the bridge and planned to focus on his role as science officer, familiarizing himself with the data collected on recent missions.

The gamma shift bridge officers understood his expectations. Appropriate greeting given, he was able to open his files and work for two hours and 54 minutes without disturbance.

At 0640 the alpha shift began to arrive, in their customary order. Mr. Chekov was, as always, first, and as usual, exited the lift calling noisy greetings to his peers, who responded in kind. Frequent repetition had forced him to concede there was some aspect of beginning his shift that inspired delight in Chekov. The young man's compulsion to share it; he still considered voluntary.

He decided against another discussion with the junior officers about their consistent inability to regulate the volume of their interactions. Instead, he paused his work, raised his head, and looked purposefully around the bridge. Immediately, vocalizations muted. Several officers assumed expressions he recognized as signifying resentment, and at navigation, Lieutenant Bihan gave her report in an exaggerated whisper he assumed was painful to maintain.

His hearing was superior to most humans. It was a fact, physiologically true, and not, as occasionally suggested by the CMO, something in which he took pride. He sometimes found loud voices painful, but more often, he found them distracting. He was also occasionally forced to overhear conversations that were intended, or assumed, to be private. It did not, of course, make him uncomfortable, but could affect his productivity.

The remaining alpha bridge officers arrived in rapid succession, going immediately to their stations and beginning the formalities of transferring responsibilities. Only after initiating the calibration of her equipment did Nyota glance his way. He returned her subtle nod. It was, as always, perfect.

At 0658 the turbolift doors opened, and the captain entered the bridge. Mr. Chekov announced his presence with his customary unnecessary exuberance. All officers not at a duty station went to attention, and Lieutenant Commander U'Ktu exited the command chair. As was his habit, Captain Kirk paused briefly to survey the bridge and smile before calling, "At ease!" and taking his seat.

He did not resume his work but instead, stepped back from his console and waited. As he had anticipated, Captain Kirk began his usual morning routine of greeting each officer by name and questioning them on what was up and how it was going. These were not literal requests for information, Nyota called them small talk, a term he thought described perfectly the value of the conversations.

He thought the greetings might alert the crew's subconsciouses to their leader's emotional state, thereby maximizing their ability to function as a team, but he was not certain. If the routine inspired anything for him, it was vague relief that no Vulcan required inane colloquy for their emotional regulation.

At 0709 it was his turn. The captain said, "You're hard at it Spock, how long you been here?"

"I arrived on the bridge at 0346," he replied, "as is reflected by..."

"The duty log." Captain Kirk seemed to relish finishing his sentence, "of course it is. I'd tell you that you're entitled not to work when you are off duty, but you've heard it before, right?"

"Indeed captain," he replied. In fact, he had heard that he was entitled to not work while off duty eight previous times from Captain Kirk. He had heard variations on the information thirty-three times from Dr. McCoy. It was immaterial. He often preferred work to recreation, and he was physiologically nearly wholly Vulcan; he required less sleep than many other species.

"As long as we're clear," the captain said. "I don't want you writing some tell-all accusing me of overworking you."

He did not bother to dignify the absurdity with a response. Neither did he attempt to restart his work. Instead, he continued to wait until 0714 when, as expected, Yeoman Rand arrived on the bridge. She carried a PADD and a covered mug. She was followed by a very young woman, who swiveled her head about, radiating wonder in a most distasteful manner.

"Good morning Captain Kirk," Rand said. "Here is your coffee. Here is your PADD, preloaded with your schedule for today, and I forwarded some correspondence you need to take care of."

"Did you paraphrase them?" asked Captain Kirk, popping the seal on the coffee.

"As per your standing orders sir," Rand agreed.

"Who's the newbie Rand?" asked the captain, smiling around his mug.

"This is Miner, my trainee," Rand replied, without much interest. "Miner, the captain."

"Captain James T. Kirk," the captain said, smiling warmly, "welcome aboard Yeoman Miner."

"Yes sir," Miner replied, sounding almost frantic. He had observed that meeting the captain could inspire inappropriate responses in new crewmembers. He did not experience an emotional response to the displays, but intellectually, he disapproved.

In an unusual exhibition of sound judgment, Rand appeared to agree. She gave Miner a cool glance and said, "Take a good look, you'll never be this close again."

"Yes, ma'am," Miner said, still sounding awestruck.

"She might," the captain said.

"No sir, she's going to be very far down the feeding pool for a long time. She'll be lucky to do record keeping in engineering," Rand said firmly. She pointed towards the PADD and wiggled her fingers, a gesture he knew meant the captain was to write.

The captain sighed and switched on the tablet.

Rand stepped down toward the helm "Hey," she said to Chekov, "how's it going?"

"Slow," Chekov replied, "but it is early."

Rand glanced at Sulu, then whispered, "Slow like how?"

"Slow like zero," he replied, "but I am not worried."

"Did you say zero? You let gamma shift get away?" Rand asked.

Chekov did not answer, but instead turned and looked at the science station. Rand followed his gaze. "Oh," she said.

He was the only being currently working at the station, and yet, it required some effort to control the entirely irrational desire to see if there were perhaps someone behind him. They were referencing him, but he could not comprehend why. Beyond the respect due to every living creature and an occasional concern about Bihan's judgment, he had no interest in the gamma shift officers.

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Chekov said.

"A plan," Rand repeated dismissively. "You better not mess this up."

Chekov nodded, then looked speculatively at Miner. "Hello," he said.

"Hi," she said, still looking at the captain.

"I am Lieutenant Pavel Andreivich Chekov," he said.

"Hi," Miner said again, this time looking at Chekov, with something approaching interest. "You're a lieutenant?"

He opened his mouth to clarify, but Rand beat him to it. "He's a j.g., and he got his commission about two seconds before we sailed, so barely."

"A commission is a commission," Chekov said, "so, yes, I am a lieutenant. Now, this is Mr. Sulu. He is a full lieutenant and the chief helmsman. Isn't that amazing?"

Miner nodded. Rand smiled broadly. An unusual response, he thought, to information she already knew well.

Sulu turned and asked, "What's amazing about it?"

"That you are it," Chekov said, and continued quickly, "Do you know what else? Mr. Sulu is the father of a beautiful baby, and he has new holos which he received only yesterday. Would you like to see one?"

"Sure, yeah, I guess," Miner said.

"You would?" Sulu asked.

"Who wouldn't?" Rand interjected, her tone implying an uncharacteristic interest.

Miner shrugged and nodded. Sulu reached for a small cube he had balanced on his workstation. He activated it, the young woman leaned over and gazed at it. She cooed,"Look at all that hair!"

"You want to see Rand?" Sulu asked.

Rand leaned over the holo. "Beautiful," she said, although she looked at Chekov instead of the picture. Sulu, gazing at the cube, did not notice, but Chekov smiled and dropped his head. There appeared to be a secondary meaning attached to the communication. Even after his years among them, he often found it an inconvenience bordering on frustrating that humans could not be more direct.

"Did you get new holos Mr. Sulu?" asked Ensign D'Angelo, up from engineering to perform some maintenance.

"I did, as a matter of fact, yesterday." Sulu continued, "You're welcome to take a look."

"I'd love to," D'Angelo said and stepped over to the helm. His assistant, a new crew member, a small, scaly being, followed. They both made appreciative noises at the holos.

"I'm always surprised how many people want to see her," Sulu said.

The captain gave an odd, grunting laugh "Hate to interrupt," he said, "but I'm finished, and I could use another coffee."

"You signed them all sir?" Rand asked.

"Every highlighted area," the captain replied, smiling and nodding to Miner, who blushed crimson. "Thank you for your excellent preparation Yeoman Rand; it's always great to work with a member of the corp."

Rand accepted the empty coffee mug. "A pleasure sir," she said in a tone that implied otherwise.

The captain said, "You know Miss Miner, cooperation between divisions is fundamental on the Enterprise. Each of us is important to the success of the whole."

Miner stared at him, eyes sparkling, mouth partially open. Rand grimaced and said, "Yes, yes, glad to be valued members of the team, etc. sir. Come on Miner." She started toward the door then turned back and said, "I'll be back, keep working."

Chekov nodded, then froze when the captain asked, "On what?"

"Hmm?" Rand stopped and glanced back at the bridge. "Oh, sorry sir," she said, "on leading us."

It was nonsensical, but the captain shrugged and said, "Will do."

The turbolift doors closed behind Rand at 0725. Thinking there were no further scheduled distractions, he opened his files. The captain sat still for two minutes and thirteen seconds. He then sighed, and announced, "I hate going slow, it makes for long days."

Yes, he thought, long days which could be dedicated to research, should a reasonably quiet work environment be maintained. He did not, however, say it. James T. Kirk had never developed the scientist's appreciation of data analysis but preferred experiences. At one time, he had considered it a waste of intellect, but serving on the Enterprise had impressed upon him the value inherent in a variety of temperaments. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations. The captain would continue to search out new data; he would continue to analyze it.

"Okay, who's got something?" the captain asked.

Even after years of exposure, he found the phrase provoking. Despite its nonspecificity and questionable grammar, he knew the crew would interpret it as an invitation to begin a rambling discussion that might last hours. He had many times suggested their elimination, the captain always responded with circuitous talk of "team building," implying that the junior officers found having attention paid them gratifying. Gratification was not a goal he had established for his interactions with the crew.

He sometimes used the talks as opportunities to exercise self-control. To that end, he focused on the information before him. Unfortunately, the alpha shift was comprised primarily of humans. The volume of their voices rose with every comment, and he found himself unwillingly following the conversation.

"Chekov, what's up with you and Rand?" asked the captain.

Chekov wrinkled his forehead. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Are you dating?"

Shaking his head rapidly, Lieutenant Chekov stuttered, "Uh, no, sir."

"Is that true Sulu?" the captain asked.

"It's true," Sulu agreed, without looking away from his screen.

"Then what were you talking about?" the captain asked.

"I'm not certain I understand sir," Chekov said.

Captain Kirk snorted. "Don't give me that. You think I won't notice what happens right in front of me? What's up?"

"Well," Chekov said, drawing out his answer, "yesterday was a mail call, so that is up. Would you like to see Mr. Sulu's latest holos of Demora sir?"

From the weapons console, Lieutenant Hedorff said, "He already saw them." Both helmsmen turned to look; he found his own eyes followed theirs.

"He saw them yesterday," Hendorff repeated, smiling in what he interpreted as a triumphant manner. But that made no sense. Perhaps his reading of the security man's expression was incorrect. He had attempted to improve his abilities in that field, but they were still relatively unpolished.

"He can see them again," Chekov said. "There is no rule about that." His eyes darted to Sulu; he added, "They are so cute."

"Ordinarily, sure," began the captain, then, as Sulu reached for the small cube up he said, "Okay, well fine, yes, sure, let me see the little scamp again," and left his seat to step down to the helm.

The captain bent over the holo generator and said, "Cute." Chekov nodded at Hendorff, whose face got red.

As the captain returned to his seat, Chekov asked, "Have you seen the new holos Miss Uhura?"

"I saw them earlier," Nyota said. "They're darling."

"You saw them earlier where?" Chekov asked.

"In the turbolift, after breakfast," Nyota responded, sounding, he thought, appropriately confused.

"Did you hear that Chekov?" asked Hendorff. "She saw them in the turbolift."

"Not on the bridge?" Chekov asked, "Are you certain?"

Nyota frowned at him. Chekov continued, "Because, sometimes, when people look at a thing in the turbolift, they are still examining it as they walk onto the bridge."

"I may have still had it in my hand, now that you mention it," Nyota said slowly.

"Yes ma'am," Weber called from sensor readout. "I was peeking over your shoulder, and I tripped coming out of the lift."

"You both saw them on the bridge then," Chekov said happily and reached for his tablet, balanced on the edge of his screen.

"She said she looked at them in the turbolift, Chekov," Hendorff said, in a tone somewhat threatening.

"And then sir, she said she looked at them on the bridge." Chekov said, "Did you not say that Miss Uhura?"

"I looked at the holos of Demora on the bridge, yes. Why?"

"On the bridge," Chekov said slowly, making a notation on his PADD, "two."

"Are you counting?" asked Sulu.

"Why would I do that?" Chekov replied, and returned his PADD to his console.

He looked more closely and saw seven slash marks across the top of the open page on the young man's PADD.

"Did anyone else see them?" Chekov asked.

"No," Weber said, "Most people looked last night."

"Why do you want to know?" Nyota asked.

"No reason," Chekov said contentedly, "we must talk about something."

No, he thought, we do not. But he did not say it. The captain studied the navigator, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Chekov noticed, and immediately busied himself with his station.

He did not, of course, feel satisfaction, but he did think it possible that the resulting silence would continue. He returned to his project.

He was able to work without significant interruption for 47 minutes. At that time, Dr. McCoy exited the turbolift for one of his inexplicable visits to the bridge. He was forced to exert some self-control not to experience frustration. It was incomprehensible to him that a professional would willingly leave his department while on duty, but McCoy visited the bridge daily, sometimes more than once.

"Bones!" cried the captain happily, "What's up?"

"The usual. Temperatures, admission numbers, falls, especially falls. When we finish the STD series, I am giving a ship-wide safety lecture."

"Remember last time?" the captain laughed. "You put up all those helpful signs. People kept falling while trying to copy the poses."

"You're right," sighed the doctor. "It's useless to try and help these people. They're all so competitive they can't call it a good day until they have about killed themselves more spectacularly than their bunkmates. Never mind. So, what's the plan?"

Kirk shrugged. "Today and tomorrow we sail. Sometime the day after that we will deliver some supplies. There was an earthquake."

"Seismic activity," he corrected the captain.

"It's the same thing," McCoy said.

He arched an eyebrow, surprised that it was not apparent. "It is not Earth; the term earthquake is incorrect."

"Does it matter Spock?" McCoy asked, seeking, as he so often did, a topic to argue over.

"Accuracy is essential in all things doctor," he replied. "Planetism has no place on a Federation starship."

"I'm no planetist," McCoy grunted.

"Hey, do you think Chekov is dating Rand?" the captain asked, undoubtedly to distract McCoy, and thus prevent one of his annoying outbursts.

"Wouldn't surprise me, seems like he dates most everybody eventually," McCoy said crankily. "Did you ask him?"

He hoped the captain would note how little the attention appeared to gratify Mr. Chekov. His sigh was audible at the weapons station and seemed to amuse Mr. Hendorff.

"I did ask, he denies it," the captain said. "But I think he's lying. The question is, why would he hide it?"

"Did you ask Sulu?" McCoy asked.

"They aren't dating as far as I know. I'm not sure they're friends," Sulu said, gazing with admirable restraint at the screen.

"We are friends," Chekov said slowly, fiddling with his PADD in a typical display of nervous energy. "Or, I think we are. She orders me about constantly and then belittles my every attempt to do as she asks."

"That doesn't sound like dating," McCoy mused. "It sounds like, hold on, you didn't maybe accidentally marry her did you Chekov?"

Around the bridge, many people laughed, Hendorff quite loudly. Chekov waited for quiet to ask, "Doctor McCoy, did you know we received a mail packet yesterday?"

"Yes, I got a nice cube from my mother," McCoy said. Behind him, the captain's face changed to look suddenly wary.

"Did you know Mr. Sulu has received new holos of Demora?" asked Chekov.

The captain's jaw tightened, as it tended to do when he was annoyed. He thought it was possible there would, at last, be an attempt to redirect Mr. Chekov to his duty, or perhaps even a mention of the value of quiet in the workspace, but the captain said nothing.

"Let me see those!" McCoy crowed, and Sulu handed him the cube.

McCoy and Sulu began an animated discussion, comparing the physical achievements of Sulu's daughter with McCoy's recollections of his child at a similar age. The two men seemed to enjoy the exchange, punctuating it frequently with head bobbing.

Lieutenant Msssht came onto the bridge with some information for Nyota. After delivering it, he joined the doctor and helmsman, looked at the holo and offered one of his own. It appeared to show an egg, although it was possible the angle distorted his view somewhat. The discussion of developmental achievements began again.

He accomplished nothing for 21 minutes. The discussion would have been disruptive; it was made worse by Chekov drumming his fingers on the console, Hendorff scowling and rocking on his heels behind the weapons station, and Captain Kirk shifting uncomfortably and yawning.

At 0930 Yeoman Rand arrived with Captain Kirk's second coffee. Although noted for her efficient use of time, Rand did not immediately leave. Instead, she paused by the helm. Chekov, who glanced up and smiled. He wondered if, despite the navigator's denial, the captain had correctly surmised a physical relationship between them. Upon closer observation, however, he noted that the yeoman's attention was directed more to the young man's PADD than to him. After reading it, Rand smiled and murmured, "Good plan sonny," and left.

It was not until 0946 that McCoy said at last, "Well, I should go."

The captain snorted, and said, "Are you sure Bones? There might be some crucial bit of nap philosophy you haven't covered yet."

McCoy laughed, as did Sulu, who said, "I love these talks Doc, but we should probably have them off duty."

"Yes, and off the bridge," muttered the captain. It was an excellent conclusion, one that could benefit many members of the crew. He looked up, hoping their commander would persist, but Captain Kirk said no more. It occurred to him that the captain's tone had been soft enough that it was unlikely the humans, with their inferior auditory reception, had heard him.

It was, of course, illogical to regret a thing that had not happened, even a missed opportunity, but it was so unlike the captain to object to even the most vacuous conversations. He could not help desiring more of the crew had heard the comment.

"It was interesting," Chekov told Sulu.

"No one asked you," the captain said firmly, and loud enough for all to hear.

"Yes sir," Chekov said.

"You're getting as bad as Spock Jim," McCoy said, "Maybe everyone thinks I'm just a big ole softie, but if you ask me, we're all a little better for time spent sharing a child's picture."

The officers left together, still discussing their offspring.

"Yes, you're a softie, that's what everyone calls you, Old Softie McCoy," the captain told the closed door of the turbo lift. "Did you hear that Uhura?"

"I'm sorry sir, I was paying attention to my work," Nyota replied. He bent over his station, careful not to show it, but internally, rejoicing in her.

He worked for 48 minutes, then was disturbed by four new crew members receiving a tour of the ship from an ensign from personnel. Chekov introduced himself, and Sulu, and invited the whole group to see the holos. They complied and began a subdued but unnecessary discussion of the infant.

Captain Kirk suddenly stood up and announced, "Spock, you have the conn," then left the bridge. It was not unexpected; the captain preferred to supervise through frequent inspections of other departments.

Although it seemed impossible they had not wrung the last possible comment from the topic; the group continued their discussion. He waited three minutes, then cleared his throat. The ensign glanced at him and suggested the group continue their tour.

The bridge crew was capable of navigating unsupervised at sub-warp speeds in much-traveled space. He stayed at the science station and continued to work. Or rather, he attempted to do so. He was disturbed again by the arrival of Lieutenant Morrissey with the day's launch codes for the weapons officer, in this instance, Hendorff.

Morrissey, a large man, much given to lifting weights in front of mirrors, greeted Hendorff by saying, "Chekov give up yet?"

"Not yet, he will," Hendorff replied confidently.

"I am right here," Chekov said, "and no, I won't."

Sulu turned, perhaps to correct his subordinate's tone or ask the topic of discussion. Either way, Morrissey spoke first, saying, "Ah Chekov, I didn't see you there behind that great big console."

Both security men laughed noisily. He raised an eyebrow until they controlled themselves.

Transfer made, Morrissey started to the turbolift, but detoured past the helm. He reached out to pat Chekov's head and said, "It's so cute when you try and play with the big boys."

Chekov tensed, Sulu rapped sharply on the console. Chekov looked his way; the pilot shook his head. Chekov slumped in his chair and glared at Morrissey, who laughed again but went on to the turbo lift.

He decided to use his temporary position to do what he could to create a more conducive work environment. "Mr. Chekov," he said. I am sending you some information from a report I am writing. Analyze the data for statistical significance and summarize your findings. I shall need the information soon and would prefer you not allow yourself to be distracted while working on it."

Chekov muttered an acknowledgment. Sulu, unaccountably, turned around to smile at him beatifically.

The bridge was suitably quiet for one hour and twenty-one minutes before the regularly scheduled maintenance check occurred. Mr. Chekov softly informed the custodial supervisor of Mr. Sulu's holos. The woman offered to share one of a grandchild. There followed an admitted quiet, but entirely irrelevant discussion of the children's appetites, which was ongoing when the captain arrived back on the bridge at 1148.

The captain put his hands on his hips, and sounding adamant, said, "We're starting meal breaks right now. First-half go. Sulu, that means you. Chekov, stay at the helm."

There were surprised acknowledgments from around the bridge. Captain Kirk seldom took much interest in breaks, trusting the crew to arrange their own.

Nyota and Sulu left. As soon as the door of the turbo lift closed behind them, the captain turned to the helm. "Mr. Chekov," he said, and gestured for the young man to come closer.

The younger man jumped up. "Sir?"

Captain Kirk leaned forward and asked quietly, "Why are you turning my bridge into a Sulu spawn slideshow?"

"Sir?" Chekov repeated softly, looking nervously towards weapons, where Hendorff watched with an expression he thought could be described as eager.

"You heard me," the captain said, then leaned around the navigator, "Want something Hendorff?"

"Nothing sir."

"You look very interested," the captain said skeptically.

"No, sir."

"Then, is it possible you could occupy yourself with some work that actually has something to do with you?"

Hendorff immediately busied himself with the controls of his station. The captain said, "Back to you Chekov. Why are you directing every single being who comes off that turbolift to Sulu's holo cube?"

Chekov wrinkled his forehead and blinked rapidly, which often signified the young man was uncertain how to phrase his response. Finally, he said, "Don't you enjoy hearing about the crew's families, sir?"

The captain looked around, then dropped his voice, "Yes, within reason. If you recall, there were unending Demora updates after the last mail call. I said nothing, I figured it was important to Sulu, and Sulu is important to the team. But, I can't do it again. If I hear one more discussion of replicated versus real baby food, I will stun myself. It's boring."

Chekov said mournfully, "Not to Mr. Sulu sir."

He recognized Chekov's demeanor. He had noted the combination of tone, posture, and expression could compel other humans to do as the lieutenant wished. He had discussed the insight with Nyota, who had supported his conclusion and acknowledged she was not entirely immune to the effect. She had said she suspected the young man sometimes did it purposefully.

The captain smiled. "No, you don't. I will not feel guilty. I endured Sulu's holos last month. I've probably heard them discussed twelve times today, that's enough."

Ordinarily, he considered carefully before joining other's conversations, as he had learned early in his career that many times humans valued discretion about their efforts to share incorrect information above possessing correct information. However, on the bridge of a starship, accuracy was always essential.

"Thirteen times," he said.

"What's that Spock?" asked the captain.

"There have been thirteen individuals that have discussed Mr. Sulu's daughter with him today."

"Fifteen," Chekov said, and then added, "sir."

"What?" asked the captain.

Chekov explained quickly, "Fifteen individuals have looked at Mr. Sulu's daughter today."

"Mr. Spock said thirteen Chekov," Hendorff said. "Are you saying Mr. Spock is wrong?"

"He is mistaken," Chekov replied. From his post at the science station, he could not see the captain's expression, but Chekov flinched and stammered, "I beg your pardon sir, but fifteen crew members have looked at the holos, sir."

"Chekov, are you counting the number of people who see the pictures?" asked the captain, sounding incredulous, instead of angry, which, he could not help thinking, if one insisted upon expressing emotion at this time, might have been the one that was both appropriate and useful.

Chekov, never good at emotional restraint, flushed. "Yes, sir."

"Could you possibly have an explanation for doing something like that?" asked the captain.

Chekov chewed his lip nervously, then he said, "It's a math prodigy thing captain, I cannot help it."

"Oh brother," Hendorff muttered, probably too quietly for the captain to hear.

"Well, however many people it has been," began the captain.

"Fifteen," Chekov interjected.

"Thirteen," Hendorff objected.

Clarification, he decided, was required. "Originally captain, you said twelve individuals had discussed the holos. There have been thirteen. However, Mr. Chekov is correct that a total of fifteen crew members have looked at them, as Miss Uhura and Mr. Weber examined the holos without discussing them."

With his jaw unquestionably tight, the captain said stiffly, "Thank you, Mr. Spock, thank you, Mr. Chekov, thank you, Mr. Hendorff. I don't care if it's one person. I am not spending another minute listening to people discuss diapers and bottles. I don't want to hear you mention those pictures again, Chekov, it only encourages people to ask questions."

"Yes sir," Chekov said dispiritedly. The captain nodded and turned his attention to his tablet. The lieutenant returned to his seat at the helm. Hendorff leaned forward, leering. Chekov sighed again and fidgeted in a manner most disruptive.

"Mr. Chekov, have you finished reviewing the materials I sent?" he asked.

Chekov looked at him like he could not remember what he was speaking of, then muttered incoherently about "nearly," and went to work.

He read quietly for 16 minutes, then was distracted by a movement. He looked up and saw Hendorff set a PADD on the console before Chekov. The large man leaned over and pointed at the screen. Concerned what information from weapons would be of use to navigation, he listened carefully.

"Want to give up?" Hendorff whispered.

"No," Chekov replied quietly.

"Come on, we both heard Kirk. There is no way you are going to win."

The navigator frowned. "It is barely noon. I have hours."

"You're crazy Chekov."

"No. I only need five more people. I can do it. Just because I can't talk about them doesn't mean people won't see them. Anything is possible."

"Fine, but be prepared, I am going to want my money right away." The security officer picked up his PADD and ambled back to his station.

Chekov frowned at the viewscreen, ignoring his PADD, and the statistics.

He considered the proper course of action. The discussion had not been an appropriate use of time, and Mr. Hendorff had purposely used his PADD to falsely imply he had a valid reason to step away from his station, blatant misuse of Starfleet materials. However, the discussion had been of short duration. The deception had not had any apparent detrimental effects on their mission. Was it perhaps hypocritical to disturb his work to correct others for disturbing his work? He decided to clear his throat and look pointedly at Chekov. The young man started, fumbled with his PADD, and finally, returned his focus to his assignment.

After five minutes of relative peace, Lieutenant Commander Giotto exited the turbolift. The security chief regularly checked in with any officers assigned outside the department. While not particularly apt at modulating his tone, Giotto was unlikely to disrupt the bridge with unnecessary conversation.

As Giotto walked by the helm, his hand brushed against the little cube. It fell to the floor and bounced several times. He bent and retrieved it.

"Who does this belong to?" Giotto asked, in his usual gruff manner.

"Sulu," replied the captain.

Giotto turned on the generator. Looking delighted, Chekov made a slash on his PADD, then leaned over to grin foolishly at Hendorff.

"A baby?" asked Giotto incredulously. He turned to Chekov. "And this is Sulu's?"

"Yes sir," Chekov replied.

Giotto snorted, "How the hell did it get here?"

The captain gave a short laugh, and said, "In the usual way I suppose."

Giotto said, "Sir? There is no usual way."

The captain nodded. "You're right; every time is special when you're in love."

There were muffled giggles from several stations.

Giotto flushed. "Sir, I'd like an explanation."

"Are you serious?" asked the captain.

"Sir, I can assure you, it doesn't happen in security," Giotto replied.

"Like that's surprising," the captain murmured.

"What's that sir?" asked Giotto.

Instead of answering, the captain said, "Okay, well, Mr. Chekov, why don't you field this one?"

Chekov stared up at Giotto with his mouth hanging open. Although the bridge temperature had not changed from its usual, slightly too cool constant, he appeared overheated.

"Chekov," repeated the captain.

"You said not to talk," Chekov bleated.

The captain shrugged. "I'm making an exception. I think this may be the one baby discussion I will enjoy. Go ahead, explain to Mr. Giotto the usual way to get one."

"Sir," Giotto said stiffly. "I'm asking how it is considered usual to have personal holos at a workstation."

"Oh," the captain said, sounding disappointed. "That's not what it sounded like you said." Behind him, Chekov gazed upward and murmured what appeared to be a thankful invocation.

The captain continued, "Sulu's only been back from parental leave a couple of months. He enjoys showing off his holos."

"It's against regulations, sir," Giotto said. He had, for a human, an outstanding grasp of regulations.

"Noted Giotto, thank you," the captain replied

"Shall I confiscate this, sir?" Giotto offered.

"No, chief, that won't be necessary. I'll take care of it," Captain Kirk said, in the tone he used to signify he was finished listening.

Giotto scowled, slammed the cube onto the helm and stomped back to the turbolift. He pushed through the door as soon as it arrived, apparently forgetting his original intent had been to check on Hendorff.

The captain watched him go, then shook his head, and turned to the helm. "Just to be clear Chekov, you're still barred from holo discussion."

"Yes sir," the navigator replied. Behind him, Hendorff pumped his arm into the air.

After five quiet minutes, the officers returned from lunch, and the second shift noisily left. There were 30 minutes of efficient quiet, which ended with the captain encouraging him to take a break.

"I do not require nourishment at this time," he said and wondered if that would possibly end the discussion. Before the captain could destroy his hopes, the lift opened, and Mr. Scott charged across the bridge, calling, "What's this I hear about new pictures?"

Scott was followed closely by Kyle and Keenser, and distantly by the second lunch shift, including Chekov, who stopped at the tactical station. The engineers surrounded the helm, clamoring to see the holos. Laughing, Sulu obliged, and as Keenser gazed silently, the humans began a lively discussion of the infant.

Captain Kirk watched briefly from his chair, then got up and went to tactical. Chekov busied himself with the screen, making every appearance of finding it intriguing. The captain cleared his throat. Chekov sighed, then turned to face his commander.

"Mr. Scott is on my bridge," Kirk said quietly.

Chekov looked at the helm as if surprised by the officers' presence. After several seconds, he nodded and murmured, "Yes sir."

"He brought a couple of friends," said the captain.

Chekov studied the group again, then said, "Yes sir."

"They are discussing babies," the captain said.

"Are they sir?"

"Did you just say 'are they' Chekov?"

"Sir, it is so quiet, and," Chekov struggled for the correct word, then offered, "inoffensive. I was paying no attention."

"Seriously Chekov?" said the captain.

The navigator directed his attention to the helm and made a show of listening. He nodded. "Yes sir, I believe they may be discussing Demora."

"Yes, I thought they were. My question is, how exactly did Mr. Scott know there were holos up here to discuss?" the captain asked, in a quiet, slow voice.

Chekov opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed again. He said, "I told him, sir."

"You disregarded my direct order," the captain said.

Chekov assumed his innocent expression and said, "No sir, you said you didn't want to hear me mention the holos. You didn't."

"Really," the captain said.

Chekov nodded, "I spoke with Mr. Scott in the mess, sir."

Mr. Kyle made a cooing noise very unlike his usual vocalizations. Scott laughed heartily. The captain watched skeptically and then asked the lieutenant, "They are on my bridge talking about rashes. Did I not make it clear that is what I wished to avoid?"

"You said you didn't want to hear me mention the holos sir," Chekov repeated. "I was careful that you didn't. It is always my intention sir, to follow your orders, sir."

"Your attention to detail is an inspiration Chekov," the captain said.

"Thank you, sir," Chekov said.

"That was sarcasm, and your innocent routine doesn't fool me, I pretty much invented it." The captain frowned again at the officers at the helm, and then added, "So, let me make sure I get this right. Your explanation is that you tried to follow my orders?"

"Yes sir," Chekov said cautiously.

"Fine," the captain said. "I won't punish you for insubordination then." Chekov looked relieved, until Captain Kirk continued, "No, I'll consider it a personal matter. Coming up with an appropriate response to that will be more fun anyway. In the meantime, not another being gets informed of Sulu's holos. Not here, not in the mess, not on the turbolift. I don't even want you to talk about it to your bunkmates in your sleep. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Chekov said softly.

The captain returned to his chair and watched the conversation at the helm. He periodically shook his head, but, did not comment. Chekov glanced at Hendorff, then returned his attention to the captain, looking at him speculatively.

Tentatively Chekov asked, "Sir?"

The captain raised an eyebrow in response.

The navigator continued, "What if someone asks me about the cube?"

"Sit down," the captain replied, and Chekov obeyed quickly.

Mr. Scott said, "Isn't little Demora a beauty captain?"

"Hmmm?" replied the captain, "Oh, yeah, a beauty. You know what else is beautiful? A well-supervised engineering division."

Scotty laughed and handed Sulu the cube. "Isn't that true? And we best be getting back there."

The engineering officers left, still marveling about Sulu's child. After they were gone, the captain said, "Ahhhh, silence. Now that's beautiful, wouldn't you say Chekov?"

"Yes sir," Chekov replied listlessly.

There was a one hour and sixteen-minute period of sustained quiet. At 1427 two technicians arrived to discuss some upcoming upgrades to the helm. They needed a screen to look at the schematics. The cube was in the way, and one of them tossed it to Chekov, asking, "What's this?"

Chekov glanced at the command chair. Captain Kirk narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the lieutenant. Chekov sighed, then shrugged.

At the conclusion of a ten-minute discussion the officers left. Chekov watched them go wistfully. Across the bridge, Hendorff laughed into his hand.

"What's funny Hendorff?" the captain asked.

"Nothing sir, something stuck in my throat," Hendorff replied, in a jovial tone. "But don't worry sir, I'll be fine. After all, the shift is nearly over."

Chekov frowned at Hendorff, then at the chrom, and then began to glance nervously around the bridge, rocking his chair.

"Sit still," Sulu said.

"Yes sir," Chekov sighed, sinking lower in his seat.

Sulu looked at his friend with concern. "You're very twitchy today. Maybe you should go for another run after work."

"Take a run down to the paymaster," Hendorff suggested. "That's a nice little jog."

"Maybe I didn't get enough exercise yesterday," Chekov said bitterly.

"Why not? I thought you two were going to play that stupid game?" asked Nyota.

"Hmm?" asked Sulu. "Oh, yeah. Wall ball. We played. Great fun."

"Who won?" the captain asked.

Sulu looked at Chekov uncertainly. "Did you?" he asked.

He expected the young man to begin babbling incoherently about scores, so was unprepared when Chekov slowly shook his head, then turned deliberately to the screen.

"Really?" asked Sulu. "I don't remember winning."

"That doesn't sound like you," laughed Nyota.

"No one won," Hendorff clarified. "We were playing as teams, when you left, we couldn't finish. Right, Chekov?"

The navigator glanced at Sulu, with an expression more suggestive of a tragedy rather than a leisure activity. He nodded, slowly,

The captain said, "Snap out of it Chekov. It was just a game."

Chekov murmured, "Yes, sir," and returned his attention to the screen.

Humans he thought, were incomprehensible. How had the discussion of a sporting event suddenly interested the young man in his responsibilities? More importantly, was it possible to replicate the response?

At 1445 Rand returned to the bridge, carrying a mug. "Coffee?" she asked the captain.

"Thanks," he said, reaching for the drink. "What's up? I didn't call."

"Guess I've worked for you long enough that I can now anticipate what you want, even before you do. You're welcome, sir." Rand replied, then stepped around the chair as if returning to the turbo lift. She stopped by the communication station and gestured to Chekov. He murmured something to Sulu, picked up his PADD, and went to join her. Hendorff looked appraisingly at Captain Kirk and then followed. He considered saying something but noticed the captain, who while holding a PADD as if reading it, was, in fact, watching the junior officers. He decided to join his commander and surreptitiously listen to the conversation.

"Let's see," Rand whispered.

Chekov turned his PADD toward her. She examined it and hissed, "Nineteen?"

"Beta shift will be here soon. I only need one," Chekov replied quietly. "It will be fine."

"Oh Chekov," Hendorff said in a cheerful whisper, "Beta shift is in sickbay watching that STD vid we all saw last night. They'll be late."

"What?" Chekov said, loudly.

Sulu turned and asked, "What what?"

Chekov smiled nervously and said, "Nothing sir." Sulu nodded and returned his focus to his work. Chekov whispered, "What did you say?"

Hendorff grinned. "No one is coming before 1500. You are out of luck."

"How did you not know that Chekov?" Rand hissed. "Everyone knew that."

"Everyone did not know it, Miss Rand, if everyone knew it, then I would, and I didn't." Chekov's whisper sounded angry. "You knew it though Mr. Hendorff? And Mr. Morrissey?"

"Morrissey told me," Hendorff agreed. "You, by the way, have ten minutes."

"Chekov," Rand whispered, "I'm out 200 credits, this is all your fault."

"Two hundred credits," Chekov repeated softly. "Why would you bet that kind of money?"

"Because I'm an idiot. How could I possibly have thought I could count on you?" Rand muttered. "Why do people say you're smart?"

"I am smart," Chekov insisted quietly. "I only need one more. There must be someone."

"Give it up Chekov," Hendorff whispered happily. "Everyone who's interested already saw them, and no one else will be here on time to help you."

Chekov looked up at Hendorff, a slow smile lighting up his face. "You are right, everyone interested has seen them, but that does not mean everyone has."

"Chekov, if you honestly think you can convince the first officer to help, you are stupider than I give you credit for," Hendorff scoffed.

"Mr. Spock would not wish to be involved," Chekov agreed.

Occasionally, he thought, the young man showed a commendable grasp of the obvious.

"But, there is someone?" asked Rand, still whispering.

Chekov nodded.

Rand clasped her hands and said quietly, "I take it back Chekov, you aren't entirely stupid."

"Who?" Hendorff asked.

"Me," Chekov replied as if it were apparent.

"You?" Hendorff said contemptuously, "You don't count."

Ignoring him, Chekov murmured, "I have to do this just right."

"Huh?" asked Rand.

Chekov explained, "It must be done by 1500, but I can't leave time for the captain to stop me. I'd have to obey a direct order."

"He's going to be mad," Hendorff whispered.

Chekov shrugged. "He already is, more will not matter that much."

Rand shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she said softly, "but, money isn't everything."

"I must win Miss Rand, it has nothing to do with money," Chekov said.

She shrugged, and in a tone unusually solicitous, said, "Tell you what, if he confines you to quarters I will bring you some decent food."

Looking pleased, Chekov reached for her hand.

Hendorff pushed them apart. "You don't count," he insisted, more loudly.

Chekov stepped back. "Watch me," he muttered contemptuously, then hurried to the helm. He smiled innocently at Sulu, then directed his attention to the chrom, watching as if concerned it might escape.

Rand moved slowly toward the command chair, keeping her eyes on Chekov. The captain looked at her quizzically but did not comment.

Hendorff stomped back to weapons and stood glaring at the helm, crossing and uncrossing his arms nervously.

When only 15 seconds remained till the end of the shift, Chekov took a deep breath. He glanced regretfully at the captain, then reached over and grabbed the cube. He turned it on, said quietly, "These are certainly cute," and tossed it back to Sulu."

The captain sat up quickly, looking surprised. Chekov grabbed his PADD, made a slash mark, then balanced it on his console so that the screen was toward Hendorff.

"You don't count!" Hendorff said again.

"He's a crew member; he counts," Rand snapped.

"Seven seconds to spare," Chekov said. "Tell Mr. Morrissey."

"Okay. That's it. What is with you today?" asked Sulu. He appreciated the inquiry, although he would have preferred it to be more specific. He too was curious as to what was happening.

At that instant, the turbolift opened, and beta shift arrived in a group, with many apologies for being late. There followed ten minutes of turmoil, rapid, noisy reports and conversations about the vid they had seen, even louder than the morning routine.

Rand waited by the command chair until Chekov finished reporting to Darwin. She darted over and whispered, "Two hundred credits Chekov, I am so happy that I could kiss you."

The captain said, "Go ahead Rand, we've all known for some time."

Rand grimaced and said, "It's an expression sir," then darted to the turbolift, joining Nyota and Sulu. Chekov attempted to follow, but a red-faced Hendorff got in first and used his security ID to close the door.

The captain, still in his chair, called, "Oh Mr. Chekov, a word."

The young man sagged, then made his way slowly to the chair. It occurred to him that he had often read in Terran literature the expression, 'dragging his feet,' but he had never before seen anyone do it.

When Chekov reached the chair, he said plaintively, "Sir, you didn't say I couldn't look at them."

Captain Kirk asked, "How much did you win?"

"Sir?" Chekov replied.

"It's pretty obvious what's been going on."

"Something is going on sir?".

"Chekov," the captain said, "obviously you bet Hendorff that you could get Sulu to show his holo cube to at least twenty beings during one shift."

It had not been obvious, but it did explain many of the shift's interactions. It had not occurred to him that capable officers like Chekov and Hendorff would deliberately disregard the prohibitions against gambling on Starfleet vessels.

"I'm sorry sir," Chekov said.

The captain shook his head. "You're sorry you got caught maybe. Do you need money?"

"No, sir," Chekov sounded offended. He thought it a reasonable question. An extreme need would perhaps be a logical explanation.

Captain Kirk continued, "Then, why in the name of everything that is good or interesting would you do that to me?"

"I did not consider you sir; I was considering only me."

"At least you're honest about it."

Chekov scowled. "I don't care about the money, but they do. I will make them give me every credit."

"Huh." The captain studied the navigator. "You're not usually vindictive Chekov."

The navigator shrugged.

The captain said, "You know you'll tell me eventually; it may as well be now."

Chekov sighed, then, in a voice so low it was barely audible, said, "The four of us were in the middle of our game when the mail call came. Hikaru said, 'Ben sent holos!' and ran off. I threw a ball at him, but he slammed the door quickly, so it bounced back and hit Mr. Morrissey." The young man paused, then added more happily, "in the face."

It was more grave than he had assumed. Assault of a superior officer was punishable by court-martial. He looked at Captain Kirk to gauge his response and was shocked to see him struggling not to laugh.

"I apologized," Chekov continued, "Mr. Morrissey accused me of being jealous of Ben. He is so stupid; I tried to explain that it is the holos that are the problem, but Mr. Hendorff said I exaggerated, and then somehow, we bet. I was not happy when Mr. Morrissey wanted in, but it would have seemed like I was afraid if I refused." The young man paused, then added plaintively, "I am sorry sir, I did not plan this, it just happened."

It seemed to him an excellent time to introduce the regulations pertaining to gambling, but instead, the captain said, "I know I should probably impart some captainly wisdom right about now, but honestly, I am not great with personal troubles. Give me a second; I need to channel my inner Uhura." He stared into space briefly, and then said, "Oh! I know!" He assumed a serious expression and asked, "Have you talked to Sulu about this?"

Chekov said bitterly. "Why? He is only interested in the baby. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left."

"Okay, just got an insight," the captain said, "Damn, Uhura is good.

Chekov said, "I asked him to play wall ball so that he would be too busy to talk. I do not wish to hear one more word about the baby."

The captain nodded and patted the younger man's shoulder. "You lost your temper Chekov. Not great, but we all do it. You don't have to be perfect."

A wager required at least two individuals; he was uncertain gambling should be considered personal trouble. Neither was he convinced the captain appreciated the severity of the situation. Addressing the failings of their youngest crew member by saying, 'You don't have to be perfect' did not seem to him instructive, corrective, or assistive with goal setting. In fact, it did not seem to him to be useful in any way."

Chekov looked up at the captain and said with some urgency, "I am not jealous."

"Well, not of Ben anyway," said the captain.

"Sir," Chekov sighed. "You get to leave the bridge, talk to other people. I have to sit here and listen to him repeat things which were boring the first time I heard them."

"Yes! Exactly," the captain agreed.

Chekov said bitterly, "He brings them everywhere. Not that he noticed, but I won't go to his lab anymore. He always has a vid of Demora running. She can't even talk. He likes to listen to her make noises. Last week I was telling him something important, and he told me to be quiet because his favorite part was starting. Do you understand? I was talking. She was spitting on herself. And he'd already seen her do it like fifty times."

He hoped the captain would suggest more precision, but instead, Captain Kirk smiled and said, "Chekov, you called everyone's attention to the holos all day. You forced what you say you hate happen."

"Yes, sir, but I had to," Chekov said. "After the bet, we went to medical to watch that vid, and Mr. Morrissey manipulated Hikaru into showing the entire alpha shift bridge crew the holos."

The captain's lips twitched. "Before you could? Morrissey is diabolical."

Chekov nodded. "It almost ruined everything. Everyone saw them but me, because I was afraid I might throw the holo generator at him, and Miss Uhura, because when Dr. McCoy said to pay attention, she did."

"No surprise there," the captain mused.

Could it be Mr. Chekov was joking? He often missed humorous subtexts, but it was not like the young man to be subtle. Still, he had the impression the captain was finding the conversation diverting.

"Sir, there were a lot of side bets. People were counting on me. I could not fail them."

Captain Kirk nodded. "Hence your plan."

"Also, I really could not afford to lose."

"How much were you in for?" the captain asked.

"Six hundred."

"Six hundred credits? Chekov, you don't make that kind of money."

Chekov shrugged. "I do this month."

"Wow. I should bet security something," the captain mused.

"It is easy money if you can keep them from cheating." Chekov mused. "Do you have a sure thing?"

It was too much. He stepped from behind the science station, "Captain Kirk," he said. "Games of chance are illegal in many quadrants. Further, Starfleet discourages all gambling and regulations specifically forbid senior officers from betting with, or against junior officers."

His voice sounded quite loud. From their stations around the bridge, officers turned to stare at him. Most seemed surprised, Chekov looked confused, the captain amused. It occurred to him that the captain and navigator had been speaking quietly. Most of the crew were not capable of hearing the conversation. Consequently, to beta shift, he appeared to have suddenly, and without provocation, begun to recite regulations. He did not, of course, feel embarrassed, or in fact, anything, but in the interests of minimizing future distractions, he resolved to be more aware.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," the captain said, then whispered to Chekov, "I've got one sure thing."

The young man giggled. Nyota claimed to enjoy the sound, but he did not consider it an appropriate response to anything. He allowed himself a raised eyebrow of disapproval.

The captain rolled his eyes. "Come on Chekov, alpha is over," he said, gesturing towards the turbolift. "Mr. Spock, are you planning to stay for yet another shift?"

"Yes sir," he said, somewhat surprised to be asked. The many interruptions meant he had actually been working less than ten hours.

"Then you have the conn," the captain said. He punched Chekov's shoulder. "I need to let off some steam. Let's go to the gym and play wall ball."

"You want me to play with you?" Chekov sounded delighted.

"That would be why I asked you to, yes."

"I would like that," Chekov replied, with an inappropriate amount of enthusiasm, of course. He whirled around so that he was walking nearly backward and whispered, "Sir, if I let you win would you tell Miss Rand I am confined to quarters tonight?"

"If you let me win," the captain replied dismissively. "What is the weather like in that fantasy world you live in Chekov?"

The turbolift closed. The bridge was quiet. He walked to the command chair and took a seat, more to gather his thoughts than because he needed a change of position. Vulcans experience far less muscle fatigue than many other species.

He had gone through 79.5% of the original data. Sulu did not work beta shift; there would be no holos, no foolish bets. The quiet should assure he'd have the remaining data analyzed in 89 minutes.

The turbolift opened, and Yeoman Tiff emerged and said, "Do not go to security no matter what," in the dramatic fashion she favored. She never seemed to comprehend she was in the command hub of the Federation's flagship and not on a stage somewhere. Nyota suspected a sexual relationship with the relief helmsman, Lt. Chang.

"Okay, noted," said Brown, the beta communications officer. A rational being, she seldom encouraged Tiff.

"Why not?" asked Chang, of whom the same could not be said.

"Giotto is on a tear," Tiff replied. "He is inspecting everything, making everyone remove anything personal. He keeps going on about usual standards, or something like that. I ran out of there."

"What triggered him?" asked Darwin.

"It is a waste of time trying to think of an explanation," Brown said. "Giotto's a division head. He gets to do any crazy thing he wants."

He made a mental note to meditate on the disappointment he experienced from hearing a correct conclusion arrived at by using such flawed logic.

"It might be stupid, but it would pass the time. I mean, what else are we going to talk about?" asked Chang cheerfully. Tiff leaned over his chair, smiling eagerly.

"Rugby," said Brown. Who do you like in the Universe Cup?"

All around him eager voices commenced a discussion of the relative merits of the teams. He stood up. "Lt. Darwin," he said, "You have the conn. I have an errand and then shall go to the science labs. I will be available if you require me."

He left the bridge quickly and took the lift to Nyota's floor. She answered on the first knock. A happy smile lit her face.

"What a nice surprise," she said. "I thought you were staying on the bridge?"

"After an alpha shift disturbed by bets, teasing, pranks, and arguments, I had hoped beta shift would provide a more conducive work environment, but it appears it will be another eight hours of the same," he confessed.

"You better come in," she said sympathetically.

He walked past her and took a seat on the bed. She sat beside him and let her hand rest on his thigh. He watched the light shine on her polished nails. He said, "I understand the need for recreation to maintain physical health, and I have come to recognize the essential role socialization plays in the human psyche. This is different."

She nodded without commenting.

He organized his thoughts, then said, "Nyota, it has occurred to me that humans purposely seek distraction from their work."

"Oh honey," she said. "You could bet on it."


End file.
